


Under Blood.

by broadwayace



Series: Executioner Boyfriends [2]
Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, but only kinda soft, coming to terms with being in love, gore is mentioned but honestly its not described because like.... im bad at writing it, honestly idk what to tag this as just take these Boys, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:33:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22602517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/broadwayace/pseuds/broadwayace
Summary: Cainhurst holds many secrets- ghosts, gargoyles, Vilebloods... or what remains of them.
Relationships: Alfred/The Hunter (Bloodborne)
Series: Executioner Boyfriends [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1622260
Comments: 6
Kudos: 36





	Under Blood.

**Author's Note:**

> Ayyyyyeeee ya'll want some madness gays??? You're getting some madness gays.  
> Enjoy! ♥

Poor Gilbert.

This was one of the times Rowan had felt horrible after slicing down a beast. Not that he never felt bad about it, but normally that feeling was in the back of his head, shoved away behind the fact that this was his duty, that he had to try and stop this Scourge that had overtaken Yharnam.

But what was the point of it now? With the Blood Moon having risen, everyone was either dead, insane, or a beast. He doubted that there were any survivors left. Even with those doubts, he kept going, if only spurred by his desire to save everyone, even if Doll and Eileen had told him that he couldn’t. He would try, at least. That was as much as he could do. He was determined to see this through to the sunrise, if morning ever came.

He knelt down next to Gilbert’s body, which had regrettably become that of a beast, praying. This was the man that had first shown him a bit of kindness when he had arrived in Yharnam as a Hunter, dazed and confused and downright scared out of his wits. It wasn’t his fault that he had become a beast. It wasn’t anyone’s fault that they’d become a beast. His thoughts fell to Father Gascoigne, and how horrible Rowan had felt after he’d been forced to kill him. He still didn’t have the heart to tell his daughters about what happened to their mother and father, hoping that would keep them inside until the morning came. If someone could survive from this horrendous night, he would try his best to keep them safe, even if it meant lying to save them.

He rose at that point from his praying, the joints in his knees cracking loudly, and he stretched after a moment, shoulders and arms popping as he raised them over his head. Being a Hunter did have its physical toll as well, not just its mental one. He constantly found himself on edge and tensed up, and even at this point he was starting to have to take sedatives more frequently. The sooner this Hunt was over, the better. But at least his thoughts were mostly intact, and he had a sudden urge to write to…

Oh! Alfred. Alfred was still alive, he hoped. Maybe he should check and see if he made it to Cainhurst alright, if he did end up slaying Annalise. Rowan had every belief that he did, but it never hurt to go check and see if he needed help, after all. It’s what Hunters needed to do, stick together- his small chats with Djura had been proof enough of that (he also quickly hoped that the Powderkeg Hunter was doing alright in Old Yharnam). Kneeling down again by the lamp outside of Gilbert’s home, may he rest in peace, Rowan shut his eyes as the strange feeling of lightness overtook him, and the Messengers moaned in succession, and when he opened his eyes again, the familiar sight of the Hunter’s Dream was around him. He rose from the ground, dusted himself off, and adjusted his collar. Doll was right where she’d always been, and Rowan bowed at her in greeting, her doing the same.

“Welcome home, Good Hunter.” she says, and Rowan sets down his saw cleaver and straps his gun to his back, signing at her.

_ "Please, it’s alright Doll. You can call me Rowan, I’ve told you before.” _

She simply chuckles at that and says no more.

He reaches back down to pick up his cleaver and continues on his way, ignoring the open doors to the workshop and the disgusting old man that resided constantly within. He avoided going in there if at all possible, simply because he hated the sight of Gherman. Sure, Rowan needed to store things and fix his weapons and occasionally do some reading, but the fact remained that the old man was constantly in there, and it made his skin crawl. He gave a quick shake of his head, kneeling down to the headstone that would take him to the chambers of the Vileblood Queen, before a voice stopped him.

“Good Hunter?”

He looks over his shoulder, seeing the Doll kneel down beside him on the stairs. His brows furrow in confusion at her neutral expression, before she gently places a hand on his shoulder.

“I can sense it in you, stronger this time.” She says, “You must know that a single Hunter can only do so much.”

_ “I know that,” _ he signs back, baffled that Doll could sense so much about him.  _ “And I know you’ve told me. I just… I care rather deeply for someone in the waking world. I want to make sure he achieves his goal, and that we can see the morning together. Surely that’s not all bad, right?” _

Doll dips her head. “Of course it is not. But, Good Hunter, be warned- the night is long, and though you may try, you cannot save everyone."

Rowan doesn’t respond to that, but watches instead as Doll removes her hand from his shoulder and stands up. He turns away, focusing on the gravestone instead of one of the few friends he was lucky to have tonight, and felt the light sensation overtake him as the Messengers moaned- and he rose from the lamp at Cainhurst, taken aback.

The first thing that hit his nose was the stench of blood and gore, the first thing he saw after adjusting to the lighting was a silhouette, and the first thing he heard was Alfred- but it didn’t seem a thing like Alfred. It was unhinged, it was violent, it was downright  _ terrifying  _ what he sounded like.

He sounded  _ insane. _

“Master, look! I’ve done it,  _ I’ve done it! _ I  _ smashed  _ and  _ grounded  _ and  _ pounded  _ this rotten siren into fleshy pink pulp! There, you  _ filthy  _ monstrosity!”

Rowan slowly approached behind his friend, emotions whirling inside like a hurricane. Was he scared? Was he proud? Was he intimidated? He had no idea. Alfred didn’t even notice him, too caught up in his moment of victory.

“What good’s your immortality  _ now!? _ Try stirring up trouble in this sorry state!” His taunting remark was at the throne of what used to be Queen Annalise, but was now covered in blood and goop, for lack of a better term. It made Rowan’s eyes water, the overwhelming stench of it all- no wonder they were called Vilebloods. “All  _ mangled  _ and  _ twisted _ , with every inside on the outside,  _ for all the world to see!” _ And then he laughed, loud, long, victorious, and downright  _ unhinged _ ; an unhingedness that Rowan wouldn’t have expected to come out of the cheerful, good natured, albeit passionate man he’d come to care for, and it shook him to his very core. But, he still couldn’t tell… was he scared? Or was he fascinated? Was he even more lovestruck than before? The madness must be getting to him, he thought, but it wasn’t enough to warrant taking a sedative at the moment.

Alfred comes down from his high after a moment, retrieving his rifle and the Logarius Wheel at his feet, turning around to leave, and that’s when he finally notices Rowan, his breathing labored. “... Oh. It’s you, isn’t it, Rowan?” He could hear the smile in his voice as Alfred set his weapons back down, gesturing excitedly to the remains of the Queen. “Look at this! Thanks to you, I’ve done it!” Rowan doesn’t respond immediately, but Alfred keeps going after a pause. “Well? Isn’t it wonderful? Now Master can be canonized as a true martyr!”

Rowan sets down his cleaver and straps his gun to his back once more, slowly bringing his hands up to sign.  _ “I am happy for you, Alfred, and honestly, I mean no ill will about this at all, however… you did scare me a little as I came in.” _

“Did I now?”

_ “Yes. In our previous meetings, I had noticed that glint in your eyes whenever your duty was brought up, but this, this I did not expect in the slightest.” _

The Executioner is quiet for a moment, before his voice softens, and Rowan wishes he would take that ridiculous looking helmet off, just so he could see his face.

“... Do you think any differently of me, Rowan?” Alfred says after a moment, and Rowan immediately shakes his head.

_ “No, of course not! I still… that is, I…” _ His hands fumble over his words, fingers nearly tangling from being yet unable to say what he really felt- he’d never felt this before, but something told him that the word he was looking for was  _ love _ .

He loved Alfred. But he couldn’t say it, not yet.

That’s when the other chuckles, somber moment gone over Rowan’s fumbling. “I read your notes, you know. Before I came into this cursed place.” The Hunter nearly flinches back at what happened next- Alfred’s hand cups his cheek, thumb sliding over it. He feels the streak of blood appear on his cheekbone, stretching to where that wretched scar was, by his eye. “You don’t need to hide anything from me, Rowan.”

He tenses at this, not because he was scared of Alfred, Gods forbid if he was. Just the touch- it was how he’d been touched right before he’d gotten that scar by his eye, and he was just so, so frightened by the memory of it that he went rigid, hands twitching to almost reach up and pull Alfred’s hand from his cheek, to then run back to the lamp and hide in the safety of the Hunter’s Dream, to not have to deal with these emotions anymore-

But he didn’t.

And Alfred noticed this change in his friend, noticed the fear spark in his eyes, and removed his hand for Rowan’s sake, backing away a few steps. “You are afraid of me. I knew it.”

Damning everything, Rowan gives up on signing anymore, and yanked the scarf down from his mouth, violently. “Alfred, if I was afraid of you, I wouldn’t be talking to you. I don’t… I don’t talk to people that I’m afraid of. I never have.” The other’s head tilts, still shrouded in that stupid helm, but Rowan continues. “I’m just… remember at the Blood Starved Beast fight? How I said I wasn’t ready to share about my life prior to the Hunt yet? That’s what this is. That’s what that  _ was _ . Gods above Alfred, I could never be scared of you, I could never want to be anywhere but near you, only because I… oh, _ fuck it!” _

He shoves everything aside then, the slight madness giving him the courage to do so, and he practically jumps at Alfred, ripping off that damned helm and shoving his lips against the lips of the poor, confused, spooked Executioner, throwing his arms around his neck. The Hunter’s eyes are squinted shut, and Alfred, absolutely at a loss for words and, for a brief second, at a loss for what to do, crosses his eyes to look at the other- and after a moment, returns the kiss tenfold, one hand reaching up to tangle in Rowan’s silver-white hair, the other wrapping around his waist.

The kiss was just as passionate as Alfred was about his duty as an Executioner, and Rowan was greatly surprised at just how wonderful of a kisser Alfred was. He still couldn’t put a finger on what all he was feeling at the moment as the two kissed feverishly among the blood and gore, and he could feel it getting into his hair as the other tried to pull him closer, but he knew one thing- he was  _ happy _ , he was so outrageously happy that he couldn’t hold back the smile as he tried pressing himself closer to Alfred. He’d come a long way from the poor, scared, touch-shy man he’d been when he’d first arrived in Yharnam for this Hunt, and he was more thankful about it than he ever would’ve imagined.

Of course, this also wasn’t how he had ever imagined his first kiss would go either, but at this point, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Mere minutes felt like rapturous moments, and when the two finally pulled away, short on breath, Rowan had been expecting Alfred to be more confused, to maybe gently push him back, passionate kiss or not, but was instead surprised to see that he was just as happy as he was, a soft smile on his face and an even softer look in his eyes- but deep in those eyes, the Hunter could still see that mad glint masked behind it.

“I confess you startled me for a moment,” Alfred says with a small chuckle, “But I suppose now is a good time to tell you that I return those feelings you mentioned in your note to me.”

Rowan’s smile widens, and he reaches up to press their foreheads together. “I’m glad. And I’m even more glad to realize they’re not one sided.”

“Indeed, and I the same.” 

That’s when Alfred moves away from him, turning back to face the remains of the Queen, and he looks over his shoulder at Rowan, softness replaced once more with that unhinged grin and glint in his eyes. “Fancy that, us Executioners further tarnishing the Vileblood race by romancing in its remains. It really is  _ quite  _ wonderful.”

That smirk, that feral, wonderful, beautiful smirk he gave him did something to Rowan. He felt it, deep within him, something snap, like a string that had been taught for too long. Was it the madness? Was it the high off of the kiss? Was it the stench of the Vileblood remains around him? How long had it been since he’d taken a sedative? Suddenly he didn’t care, suddenly he didn’t want this madness to end, all he wanted to do was stay in this moment, stay right here with Alfred, together on the night of the Hunt, even if morning never dawned on Yharnam, he had everything he needed right here. Foregoing what little rational thought told him to take a sedative, he grabbed Alfred’s hand and spun him towards him, surprising himself at his own strength. For the second time that night, Alfred was confused at Rowan’s sudden intimate display, but he caught on near immediately, and removed his gauntlets quickly. Rowan did the same, throwing his gloves down with both of their weapons and the gauntlets, their hands laid bare to each other, before the two began to dance wildly, waltzing around to some invisible music, only pausing to cackle over the remains of the Queen, like it was some hilarious joke that they were both drunk over.

Maybe that’s what this was, Rowan thought, that he was drunk off of this feeling of love and power and madness. But what the hell, right? It’s not like this night could get any worse from here. So he just simply danced with the man he loved, illuminated by the red light of the Blood Moon, and decided that, for once in his life, he would be selfish in his desires.

After all, they had all night to hunt.


End file.
